


Safe

by Qpenguin98



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Depression, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, are they in a relationship, haha - Freeform, they can be best friends, they can be boyfriends, vent fic, whatever you want - Freeform, who fucking knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 21:56:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5222408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qpenguin98/pseuds/Qpenguin98
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Talk to him, your brain spouts.<br/>He’ll hate you.<br/>He’ll tell someone.<br/>You’ll be done for.<br/>No. nO. NO.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe

**Author's Note:**

> wow i'm alive

You sit, alone on your bed, midnight slowly approaching.

_Talk to him,_ your brain spouts.

_He’ll hate you._

_He’ll tell someone._

_You’ll be done for._

_No. nO. NO._

Your wrist bleeds.

Your phone buzzes. You ignore it. The tissue’s soaked through.

You brain is screaming at you to pick up your phone, read your fucking phone, it vibrated for a reason dumbass read the FUCKING PHONE.

You replace the tissue and unlock your screen.

John: hey! sorry i didn’t text back earlier, i kinda lost my phone under my bed, heh.

Dave: naw man its fine dont worry about it

John: so! you had something you wanted to talk about?

Dave: it doesnt really matter anymore

Dave: kinda a situational thing and the situation doesnt count anymore

It does. You’re lying. At least your wrist’s stopped bleeding.

You add another cut.

John: oh. well, i hope that’s good? what was it?

Dave: nope

John: what?

Dave: you missed out

Dave: sucks to suck

Dave: shoulda been there

John: daaaaaaaave.

John: just tell me!

Dave: nope

Dave: youll just have to wait for some other time i feel like shitting out my feelings all over your phone screen

John: what?

The next ones deep deep deep and you might need stitches but you won’t get them. You won’t complain, you’ve done it to yourself.

Dave: nothing

Dave: i was getting a little in my feels

Dave: but its all good

Dave: were all good

John: are you sure?

John: if you want to talk about it we can.

John: that’s what i’m here for!

Dave: no point

Dave: theres no point in getting in the feels man

Dave: just some bullllshit no biiggie

Your fingers shake and your head feels pressurized and foamy and you hold down the tissue.

John: i’m sure it’s not just bullshit.

John: what’s wrong?

Dave: ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

John: are you okay?

Dave: yep yup i sure am 

Dave: i am a okay

Dave: im the okayest motherfucker youre ever gonna meet

Dave: very very veyer vvery veryv  very okawy

John: dave you’re making me worried

Dave: sorry

Dave: just fucking myself over

Dave: hahaha

Dave: why do i even exist

John: are you on something?

Dave: nope

Dave: just fucking up my arm one cut at a time

Shit. SHIT.

John: what. the. fuck.

You close your phone. Lock your phone. Throw your phone at the edge of your bed and curl up around yourself, holding a new tissue a little tighter to your arm. Let it bruise. Not like anyone will see it.

Your phone buzzes and you ignore it. It keeps buzzing and you keep on ignoring it.

You fall asleep curled around yourself and you don’t wake up for a good three hours.

It’s peaceful, and you don’t want to get up. But your body’s had enough.

There’s someone else in your room and your arm feels… warmer? Covered? Something. You open your eyes a crack and see your arm is wrapped. You shift, sit up, and pull on your shades before opening your eyes all the way.

You’re not sure why the person in your room would take them off.

You’re actually more not sure why you aren’t freaking out about there being a person in your room, but you aren’t. The place just feels

Safe.

“You’re awake.”

You groan. It’s John. Of course it’s John.

“Why are you even here?”

“Maybe because my best friend says he’s hurting himself and then stops responding? Or the fact that he’s been acting distant as fuck for a while and then gets weird on the phone? Do those suffice?”

You don’t look at him, favoring your injured arm. The bed dips next to you and his hands cover yours.

“A lot of those weren’t new.”

You’re silent in response. You know. You know how long it’s been. You know it’s been too long.  You can’t stop. You need to stop. You don’t want to stop. You want to die.

“Dave…”

You look up at him. John looks mildly in pain. You loosen your grip on his hands, letting yours go limp.

“Can we talk about it?”

You bite your lip, look away and say nothing. You’ve become incapable of talking. Sorry Dave, says your tongue, it’s time for you to be a silent little bitch!

He gets it, you think. Maybe, at least a little bit. He rests his forehead on yours and squeezes your fingers. Your shoulders slump and you exhale.

“I feel like jumping off the roof.”

He jumps a little, not expecting you to talk, and you clam up again.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“You have to have some idea-”

“I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t knoooowww.”

You’re covering your face with your hands and your shoulders a shaking a little bit.

“Hey shhhh, I’m sorry. It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re okay.”

His fingers ghost over yours and slide down to your wrists, rubbing into the divots where your bones aren’t, rubbing the place you broke your wrist when you were twelve, rubbing over the wrappings on your arm and you feel like crying.

“We’re seniors and I’m never going to amount to anything and I don’t know why but my head wants me to blow my brain open or throw it off the edge of my apartment or open up my arms until I’m dead and- a… and I-”

You bite down on your knuckles to keep from screaming your frustration. You can’t speak your feelings, don’t even know your fucking feelings, can’t understand your own motherfucking head and trying to make John understand is so shit so shit he doesn’t need this doesn’t need you doesn’t need you no one needs you you don’t need you.

Your forehead presses to his sternum and your fingers grapple for some sort of hold in his shirt. You breathe deep, trying to steady yourself, but your mind is already so far out the door that there’s no way you’re coming back to yourself anytime soon.

John holds you, arms wrapped around your back and you shiver, cold and hot and embarrassed and shamed and gross and disgusting and you hate yourself so much it hurts and he hold you and doesn’t mention the tinny sounds you let out of your mouth as you try to get your brain under control for ten goddamn seconds.

And in the end, you don’t. But he sits with you and holds you as you come undone and holds you together. And that’s all you really need.

**Author's Note:**

> yes tinny is a word  
> yes it took me 3 weeks to finish a fucking vent fic  
> now let me die


End file.
